Blessing
by lurv2boogie
Summary: This ‘love’ thing was far more trouble than it was worth. DHr, Oneshot, slightly nonHBP compliant, set during HBP.


He knew, straight away.

Well, no, not exactly straight away. In his head, he often pictured that moment as being fairy tale-esque. She rushed in, long beautiful hair swaying violently (but still as close to prefect as was humanly possible), and he was suddenly in love. Valiant knight and all that. But he knew, as soon as reality set in, that it had actually been very different circumstances.

She was seventeen. And when he'd first noticed her, he hadn't, in fact, looked at her hair, or face, or hands, or any other part of her. He'd noticed her absence.

"Apparition test,", Potter had dully replied when asked where she was. He'd strained to find some way to dock Gryffindor points, but Potter hadn't done anything wrong. Could you punish people for being a bit uppity? He didn't think so. But then again, it had never stopped him before.

It was then, he mused later, that he first really noticed her. Ironic, how he'd fallen for hr when she hadn't really been around to fall for. She was usually everywhere, an annoying shadow, always present in the back of his mind.

Merlin, it was so like him to fall in love with a shadow. Everything he did was like that. Chasing the chance that his father might come home. That he might be relieved of his duties. That his grades might pick up (though he thought this only half-heartedly and with some sardonicism). Most of the time he ran around like a headless Niffler, searching for some bloody pot of gold he wasn't even sure existed.

And bloody hell, he'd had his own demons. Potter and his little gang had no idea how easy they had it. When you're forced to pick a side, the Dark Lord or death, and you choose the wrong side because you're fifteen and scared out of your mind and for god's sake, you don't want to die, people don't give you help, or an Order of Merlin, or your own goddam news article. Potter picked the right side because he had to – because he was _born_ to. But he wasn't so blind, unlike Potter's little fanclub of wannabes, to say that Potter's job was hard. All The Boy Who Lived Pathetically had to do was do his best. Malfoys don't get off so easily – but despite this, really, the only difference between him and Potter was the side they'd been forced into choosing.

So he'd been struggling with his tasks as supreme and almighty _shoe shining boy_ to the Dark Lord. He wasn't blind, nor was he stupid. He knew his 'all-important' job meant nothing – it merely served as a distraction for the little boy whose father made a boo-boo. The bull he'd managed to pull out of his arse to impress the rest of the Slytherin 'A' squad was just that: bull. And he knew it. When he'd just had to deal with that, he'd been able to handle it. Mostly. But now? This 'love' thing was far more trouble than it was worth.

When he first realised, he'd fought it furiously. He didn't want to feel his skin tingle every time she walked past, or find himself daydreaming about her eyes when he should have been studying. But it was proving a difficult thing to fight.

He remembered one Potions class when that idiot Slughorn had paired them together. As disgustingly cliched as it was, they'd reached for the powered Cochineal beetles at the same time, and a spark of electricity ran between them. He pulled away, thinking he'd imagined it, but when he next glanced up at her face she was wearing a heavily confused expression. She met his gaze, and blushed before turning away.

Later on, when he'd been grinning stupidly at everyone who walked past him and had been asked by a ridiculously flirtatious Pansy why, he'd rolled his eyes as she twisted her hair around her finger and replied that he'd got a good Defense Against the Dark Arts mark. Pansy stared at him suspiciously, briefly reminding him that he was Snape's favourite student, before sighing and walking away, muttering a barely audible, "Yeah, right."

And it was then that he realised something. Sometimes, there are things that just can't be fixed, and as much as you want them to, they won't go away, they won't stop. Ever. Sometimes, things happen that you were hoping for, and it makes you content. It becomes something to remember. Sometimes, you wish that things will spin out of control so rapidly that it makes you forget the hurt, and the confusion, and the pain, and all you have left is hope. And, sometimes, love. Your own personal Pandora's Box.

But always, it's just a blessing to feel at all.


End file.
